


it's not much (but it's just enough to keep)

by spookyfoot



Series: retrograde [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Humor, Jeith - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 06, established sheith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Shirogane smiles a warning before leaning down to press a kiss where Keith’s hair meets his temple, flushing all the while. He probably got a mouth full of bandages but he doesn’t seem particularly upset about it.James had been expecting this; after last night he’d spent a good few hours staring at the ceiling, preparing himself for all the needles and knives sure to bury their way under his skin. The reality of it was more like spending years nursing the expectation that the sand in the hourglass would eventually run out only to realize no one had ever turned it to start.Even now, after days where he’d, in theory, had the ability to re-familiarize himself with Keith’s face it hurt in ways he didn’t care to name to see how his demeanor had shifted into something more focused and fluid, while the scar marked him as someone permanently untamable.It’s even worse because he and Shirogane match. Like the scar, most likely put there by one of the countless foes they’d faced in their travels, had been placed there by Shirogane himself for the sole purpose of telling the world that Keith was unequivocally his; as though it had ever been possible to believe otherwise.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: retrograde [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884568
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96
Collections: UnrequitedLoveORareThey





	it's not much (but it's just enough to keep)

James rises at 0600, staggers to the mess hall, and then heads, freshly-baked peace offering in hand to the hospital wing. It’s less foreboding but more desolate without the flicker of the emergency lights lining the hallways—a pale, antiseptic sort of light. 

Maybe that’s true; maybe James is projecting. 

The hallway leading to Keith’s room stretches longer with more people crowding it. Each body presents an obstacle to weave and dodge between as if finding his way into Keith’s confidence and company had ever been easy in the first place. It’s like he’s been pushed into the flight sim, twisting his way between computer-generated asteroids, appeasing his instructors, doing whatever it took to minimize deductions. Years later, it’s a fresh, technicolor hologram he can’t shake; the way Keith would take the same path and cut out obstacles he deemed unworthy of his time, protocol be damned. 

Keith’s room is different than he’d imagined. It’s dotted with cards and flowers, full of well wishes and love. Keith, tucked against Shirogane’s side, sprawls alongside the line of Shirogane’s body like it’s carved for him to fit. Keith’s cast a shadow in James’s mind that’s stretched out for so long, seeing the shape that formed it looking bent and broken jars him. 

Shirogane smiles a warning before leaning down to press a kiss where Keith’s hair meets his temple, flushing all the while. He probably got a mouth full of bandages but he doesn’t seem particularly upset about it. 

James had been expecting this; after last night he’d spent a good few hours staring at the ceiling, preparing himself for all the needles and knives sure to bury their way under his skin. The reality of it was more like spending years nursing the expectation that the sand in the hourglass would eventually run out only to realize no one had ever turned it to start. 

Even now, after days where he’d, in theory, had the ability to re-familiarize himself with Keith’s face it hurt in ways he didn’t care to name to see how his demeanor had shifted into something more focused and fluid, while the scar marked him as someone permanently untamable. 

It’s even worse because he and Shirogane _match._ Like the scar, most likely put there by one of the countless foes they’d faced in their travels, had been placed there by Shirogane himself for the sole purpose of telling the world that Keith was unequivocally his; as though it had ever been possible to believe otherwise. 

“I told Sam I’d be that the meeting ten minutes ago,” Shirogane says unmoving. He’s rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave. 

James knows he has to, though. He’ll wait him out. The meeting Shirogane’s attending is above James’s paygrade so he’s free and clear; he’s got nowhere else he has to be. 

Shirogane shifts from one foot to the other and a vicious thrill zip’s up James' spine at the idea that he’s making Shirogane uncomfortable. 

“I’ll be back later,” Shirogane says as he brushes past James on the way to the door. James isn’t sure who Shirogane’s talking to, Keith or James himself. 

When he’s finally alone with Keith it’s worse and far more awkward than his inflated hopes had let him suspect. There’s a vase full of fresh flowers by Keith’s bedside, a few cards next to it. Even from here, James can tell they’re the handmade sort, the kind you draft for those you care about, for the people you’d walk through fire for. He stands tall, strong, ready for whatever’s to come but some small part of him feels as though he’d entered a hot air balloon only to find out too late that there wasn’t enough fuel; wasn’t anything he could do but brace himself for the crash. 

“So…” Keith starts, like he doesn’t know where to begin.

“So. I thought we could talk. You know, like we used to.” 

Keith snorts, and the sound is sudden, jarring; unsettling. It’s like seeing the after image of who Keith used to be shaking itself free of his skin. James leans back on his heels. 

“We did a lot of things, but talking was never one of them,” Keith says. 

There’s something about that familiar bluntness, that rebellion against smooth edges, that James finds calming despite himself. Finding balance on familiar ground. 

“No, I guess we didn’t.” At least he can be that honest; admit that much. 

“I was angry, you were a dick,” Keith pauses exhales a low laugh, and adds, “I was also kind of a dick.”

And just like that, all the gravity’s gone. James remembers the acrid rush of bile and the gut-punch clench of his stomach after his first time training in the zero-g simulator, this feels a little like that, but worse, somehow, for the fact that he knows there’s solid ground beneath his feet but it doesn’t seem to matter. This isn’t going as he’d planned. Indifference is worse than anger. The muffin he’d brought sits in his palm, cold and insufficient for the path this conversation’s taking. There’s some part of James that always seems to come up _just_ short.

“Is that for me?”

James tosses it towards the bed and Keith catches it, no problem with his stupid perfect reflexes. It would have been something to see the muffin sail past him and collide with the wall; it would have been grossly satisfying to see him miss. 

Keith takes a huge bite out of the muffin and talks around it. “Thanks,” he says, crumbs dotting the edge of his lips and the dip between his two front teeth. 

James should find it disgusting but he’s got a pile of shoulds accumulating behind him while his eyes are far too focused on something else to recognize the words. Practice makes perfect and James refuses to be anything less than up to code. 

“It’s from the mess hall,” James says, half excuse, half explanation. 

“They’re better than I remember but that may just be a few years of food goo and cave bug entrails talking,” Keith says and James has questions. 

“Food goo?” 

“You know those nutrition shakes you could grab from the vending machines outside of the north gym? Well food goo tastes a little like those but five hundred times slimier.” 

“I’ll pass,” James says. The light in the room shifts just enough to catch Keith’s eyes; they flash purple with a flicker of something he doesn’t want to name. 

“Thanks for the muffin,” Keith says. It’s a dismissal. kinder than James expected but clear. Whatever Keith had to say has been said; if James has a canyon to fill for the space Keith’s left behind then Keith’s already neatly patched the cracks up with mortar. 

The clack of feet in the corridor shuffling by makes James wonder if Shirogane really left at all. 

When Keith turns towards the door, James takes his cue to leave, all the things he’d meant to say still tangled on his tongue. Two Galra pass him by with look that are in turn suspicious and dismissive. One of them has Keith’s chin and nose and the serious, determined set of his eyes. 

“Hi Mom,” Keith says as James passes through the doorway. 

James is the one leaving but it feels like Keith is the one just out of reach; starlight slipping through his fingers like sand. 

___________________________

Keith recovers faster than he should but he’s never been much for playing by the rules. James loves and hates that about him. Keith wouldn’t be Keith without his spark, but you can keep an ember to a candle without it erupting into a wildfire. Or so he’s heard; James had never been able to master that particular trick. At least not when it comes to Keith. 

Still, James has never been able to find the place in between the two poles—not when it comes to Keith. 

The meetings are long. They’ve always been long, full of infighting over tactical positions and supply distribution now that the immediate threat is over, while this gasp of air lasts until the next obstacle presents itself, brutal and ugly and terrifying. 

The only difference is that now Keith is there, sitting to Shirogane’s right like he’d been there the whole time like there’d never been that agonizing stretch of time where the people who care about him fiddled and fretted and festered while waiting for him to wake up. 

It costs James something to admit that he’s part of that group. Even if it’s just to himself. 

Today, Commander Holt leads a discussion about converting the supplies Sendak left behind into the basis for more MFE style cruisers. There’s pushback, and James wavers on the edge between agreement and denial. 

They need the backup, desperately. They may have the rising strength of the coalition at their backs but alliances are a tenuous thing at best and when your most likely opponent is a shade shifting the shadows, finding new ways to cause damage without inserting themselves into the fray, you take the strength where you can find it or where it finds you. 

“The problem with the MFE’s is that they’re short-range,” Shirogane says, “the infinite mass crystal can recharge them but if it’s transformed or on a mission with the Lions then they’re at a significant disadvantage.” 

James tamps down on the urge to roll his eyes. “If Atlas is on a mission with Voltron when even Sam Holt admitted to designing the ship with hangers for the Lions. 

There’s concern over who has jurisdiction over Atlas. Although it was built on Earth, by virtue of the fact that the Lions need access to the infinite mass crystal, does that mean Earth will have some amount of control over Atlas and Voltron? But Voltron is, as Princess Allura had repeatedly pointed out, the defenders of the universe, not just of Earth. A neutral party. Tying Voltron too closely to the fate of one planet—they’d made that mistake before. And Princess Allura’s home planet had paid the price—she makes sure that everyone present knows where that path may lead. They won’t go down that road again. 

Keith sits a few chairs down, on one side of the table’s sharp corners. From this angle, James can see where his hand rests on his thigh, fingers entwined with Shirogane’s. 

It’s a car crash, the conversation flows on around him as James hears the tires screech, the glass shatter, the airbags deploy like a starting line shotgun in the race to his own self-destruction. 

The worst part is how both Keith and Shirogane remain focused on the meeting; the casual thoughtlessness of their intimacy. Keith shifts, turns his head towards Shirogane and rolls his eyes when Lieutenant Bian mentions a parade. There’s a barely noticeable answering twitch at the corner of Shirogane’s mouth, and Keith shoots him a look James can’t parse that, for a moment, breaks through Shirogane’s carefully cultivated mask of neutral interest. James has seen Shirogane stare down a contingent of alien diplomats bring a bouquet of flowers that looked remarkably like sex toys with a straight spine and a carefully crafted smile. This one is quick, unguarded, private.

“Wow, get a room,” Rizavi mutters. The urge to remind her she’s talking about her C.O. wells up in James throat but with far too many emotions choking the path, it fails to break free. 

“Technically they already have a room. It’s just that it’s a conference room,” Leif says. 

James looks away and the rest of the discussion slides past his ears, a current he can’t catch. He’ll ask Leif to fill him in later. He keeps his spine stiff and shoulders square to give the impression he’s listening.

___________________________

After that, nowhere is safe. It seems like Keith and Shirogane keep the same schedule, the same hours, they’re a clock synced up to his schedule with a pendulum timed to hit him where it hurts at the apex of every swing. The Garrisons’ quiet places aren’t just haunted by ghosts, they’re haunted by flesh and blood and metal and a bond so thick that at times it chokes the air. 

He goes up to the roof, the one above the cadet dorms with the creaky door that everyone knows is broken but no one’s bothered to fix for their own convenience. Keith and Shirogane are there, having something like a moonlight picnic, which is more saccharine a gesture than James ever though Keith would allow or that he was capable of. Something he never dreamed Keith would even want. But maybe Keith’s dreams were never James’s—and vice versa.

That isn’t even the worst part—even worse are the things James does to himself. He watches, notices, archives, each little moment and movement pricking his skin like acupuncture gone wrong, the needles are painful as fuck and the appointment never ends.

___________________________

What James realizes is this:

There are, to this moment, four different versions of Keith: primary school Keith who carried his world in clenched fists, the Keith at the Garrison who’d built his world on someone else’s shoulders, the Keith who’d watched that same world come crumbling down around him, and the Keith whose world is the universe and whose universe is the one person he’d never been able to tear his eyes from. 

Keith smiles more now, a full curl of his lips rather than a mirage-like flicker at the corner that James notices because his chosen form of self destruction is to catalogue the various guises of Keith’s mouth; to catalog Keith’s anything and everything. James is at his usual table with the other MFE pilots. It’s been a long day, full of meetings and drills and there’s still a block of time at the gym with his name on it. Keith’s been restricted to specific activities for so long that James lets his anticipation of the moment Keith joins them in the gym slide at exactly the wrong time. 

___________________________

“I hear Keith’s been cleared to spar,” Kinkade says, like it’s nothing like the entire Garrison hasn’t been curious to see the tricks he picked up and slid up his sleeve while he was exploring the far reaches of space.

“Hm,” James hums, picking at his parfait. Yogurt’s a poor excuse for dessert but then again all of the Garrison’s desserts tend to fall into that category. Thinking of it like that shifts the whole spectrum and suddenly yogurt’s top of the charts. 

“Shiro’s supposed to be there too,” Rizavi adds. The, _of course_ , is left unsaid. It’s not like you see one without the other much if they’re not scheduled for anything but downtime. James has hidden from a sweaty, shirtless Keith too many times to avoid bumping into him and Shirogane on the loop he likes to jog in the mornings. 

“It’ll be interesting to see how Keith compensates for Shiro’s arm,” Leif adds. 

Somehow, Shirogane’s become Shiro to all of them. James won’t let that last barrier of familiarity, of order, slip through his fingers. He can’t.

He goes through his stretching routine, keeping his eyes trained on his immediate surroundings. The far mats don’t exist. They’re dead to him. 

“You’re missing the show,” Rizavi says. 

And what a show it is.

Some girl to his right whispers, “who knew Kogane would come back looking like _that_ .” Which is objectively false because Keith has always looked like _that_ , it’s just that no one else had noticed till his shoulders filled, achieved the right broadness to contrast with the sharp, otherworldly lines of his face. 

James pushes the thought aside to bend forward. Feeling the burn race up his hamstrings, he's grateful that no one can see his face.

He still sneaks a look, though. To his surprise, Keith and Shirogane are practicing separately. James made a fatal mistake: he looked and now he can't stop looking.

Keith’s taking on a cadet—Douglas— who’s either dumb or determined enough to challenge him to a fight. Or both. Maybe they’d mistakenly thought that he’d be the easier option of the two, a way to prove themselves before their peers. The rest of the gym is content to let Douglas make an ass of himself and get a better read on just how good Keith’s gotten in the intervening years. Those that are left from his earlier Garrison days have a pretty solid memory of his right hook. James feels the ghost of a hit when Keith lands a punch and Douglas’s jaw shudders under the impact. 

Once, and only once, Shirogane wanders over to curl his hand around Keith's newly broad shoulders. Keith goes tense for a moment, a flicker of discord so brief that James almost doubts he saw it at all. And Keith’s soft and smiling up at Shirogane through his bangs, unaware or just uncaring that his audience numbers more than one. 

Just as Shirogane’s about to remove his hand, Keith wraps his fingers around his wrist to keep him where he is just a second longer. He moves closer to Shirogane, says something soft and low that Douglas visibly strains to hear. It's clear he doesn't, though, by the disgruntled look that settles across his features like it's hunkered down to hibernate for the winter. Also clear: the bright red flush staining Shirogane’s cheeks, the tops of his ears. The gym buzzes. 

James remembers that Keith had quite a mouth on him; an odd but alluring combination of coy and matter of fact; James also remembers that Keith knew how to use it.

Kinkade steps up to the mat, decides to try his luck against Shirogane. He’s slightly taller than Shirogane and nearly as broad and he’s got a knack for finding the gaps in his opponents' techniques. 

They square up. Shirogane’s form is more relaxed than James expected as he considers Kinkade, arms braced against his side on the defensive, waiting to see what Shirogane will do. 

Shirogane attacks first. He feints left while his prosthetic darts in from the right. But Kinkade’s patient, sees it coming and dodges. Shirogane’s still learning what his new arm can do, unhindered by the normal laws of limbs. 

Kinkade takes the chance. He grapples onto the port grafted into Shirogane’s shoulder, tries to wrestle him to the ground. It works. Almost. Shirogane’s arm ricochets back like a boomerang to separate the opponent from opposed and make its way back to its rightful home. It knocks him clean to the mat and Shirogane takes the opportunity to pin Kinkade to the mat. But Kinkade manages to worm his way free and make his way to his feet once more. 

It continues on like that, Kinkade learning to analyze and adapt to the lawless presence of Shirogane’s prosthetic as the match stretches out until Shirogane finally pins him for good and Kinkade yields. 

A flurry of whispers erupts. Kinkade may have been beaten, but he’d lasted longer than anyone else had. 

A few mats away, Rizavi’s decided to try her luck against Keith. 

“I’ll let Kosmo sit this one out,” Keith says. There’s something resigned about the way he says the wolf’s name. Kosmo flashes over to the sidelines, as Keih ties his hair back. 

“No. Keep him in the match. I don’t need a handicap to beat you,” Rizavi says, which is—bold to say the least but James can respect the confidence required to say that. 

Rizavi has great reflexes (probably better than James, which was hard to admit at first). She’s got a good left hook, and the ability to knock someone off their feet before they even know it’s coming. Still, James finds himself watching Keith. The way his muscles flex under the bodysuit that hides absolutely nothing. Rizavi manages to hold out for a while, but eventually, she winds up face down on the mat, Keith’s foot placed between her shoulder blades. It only takes a moment before he helps Rizavi up. 

Keith and Rizavi huddle close, laughing and dissecting their match when Shirogane wanders over to tug on the end of Keith’s ponytail and Keith bats his hand away with a smile. It’s playful and damning all at once. 

James leaves, sticky, resigned, and more than a little turned on.

___________________________

  
  


The gym is dark this time of night aside from the half dimmed lights. James prefers it this way. If anyone happens to pass by as they skirt the edges of curfew or are looking for some way to blow off steam after hours, well, they won’t know that he’s there at a glance and he’ll still be able to see what he’s doing well enough to see it through. 

And then Keith and Shiro come in because of course, they do.

James curses his luck. The gym, full of years of scuff marks and sweat stink, had always been something of an escape for James. So had the roof, the rush of wind, the bright gasp of stars, the cool night air. Not anymore. Nowhere’s safe.

He doesn’t want to hear this, this bare-bones, soul scraping intimacy. If Shiro were giving Keith a blowjob he could handle it. He’d had that part of Keith. But this, this leaves him raw—flayed open. This is a side of him that Keith had never even allowed James to glimpse. 

There’s the scuffle of feet, heavy breathing, and then the dull thump of someone landing a hit. 

“Stop.” That’s Keith’s voice, ragged and pained. James starts from where he’s stranded by the free weights, but he stills himself. The whole point of remaining silent was so that they wouldn’t know he was here so that they’d leave without ever-changing that information status quo. James could keep his secrets, and Keith and Shirogane were welcome to theirs. He doesn’t need to know, anyways. 

(But he wants, he wants, he _wants_.)

“Keith.” 

“No, no. I’m...I’m okay. I just need a second.” 

“Alright.” 

James has a terrible, nauseating sense of deja vu. Again, he’s hearing things that he’s not supposed to, that he never wanted to. It’s like the universe is determined to deliver him a pointed, prickly blow, designed to land where each of them will hurt the most. 

Then, so low that James has to strain to hear it against his better judgment, “I keep seeing. You know.” 

“The facility?” 

“Yeah. And. Everything else.” 

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” Shirogane says, sounding every inch like Atlas. Maybe that ship was only ever meant to fly once it had found a perch atop of Shirogane’s shoulders. 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m not allowed to apologize?”

“Not again. I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Well, what if I want to say it?” Shirogane’s voice is all heat and steam. 

“Shiro—Takashi. Please.” 

Then there’s only silence that James’ imagination fills in ways that are far more painful than any overheard conversation could ever be. Panicking, he grabs a tennis ball and leaves. 

He’s never played tennis.

___________________________

Keith comes into the meeting the next day, fists swaddled in bandages. 

He may be hiding it but James knows there are cuts and bruises latticed over the back of his hand. He also knows that he’d left his mark on Keith, he had. 

But. Things slide off Keith differently these days. Before he’d worn his indifference like armor, now that indifference is his undoing.

Both he and Keith are different people now, shedding the skins of who they’d been under the pressure. Maybe he’ll never have the version of Keith that he’s wanted, hungered after for all these years, lying sweat-soaked, temporarily tamed and pliant under his palms.

But. 

Maybe these new, battle-worn versions of the people they once were can be friends. 

___________________________

Back in his room, James looks at the empty walls. There’s a rectangular spot on the far wall that’s lighter than the rest of the room. 

James plays catch with the tennis ball he stole. He turns to look at the spot on the wall

How many cadets had spent their formative years in the Garrison, viscerally aware of Shirogane’s photo staring down at them from the walls; of the Garrison and of their rooms. 

It’s only a matter of time before they have Keith’s poster, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments and kudos much appreciated <3


End file.
